


Mirror

by PotatoJerk



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Clark doesn't know, Conner doesn't know, Conner doesn't like Lois Lane, Drug Addiction, GO READ IT, Haven't read it?, Match is secretly Conner's twin brother, Miss Lane is NOT Conner's mom, Only Lex and Lana know, Plot elements borrowed from Afterschool Nightmare, Rated for Roy's inner thoughts, Slice of Life, That's Lana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoJerk/pseuds/PotatoJerk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you look in the mirror, one of four things happens: 1) You just look in the mirror like normal- it matches who you are, inside and out, with nothing out of the ordinary visible; 2) You face yourself and stare at your reflection for a long time- it's hard to see yourself and not your father reflected in the glass; 3) You hesitate to look and almost can't bring yourself to- your reflection doesn't match who you really are; or 4) You refuse to look at all- you don't want to know what you've become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not and never will own Young Justice.... nor would I want to, with what just happened to Wally.
> 
> I would say that this fic is about high school and bad decisions, or that it's about drug addiction and prostitution, or about gender versus sex, but that would be a lie.  
> This is a thing that I wrote because I was bored and started wondering whether Clark would make a good dad or not... and then this fic was born.  
> Conner, Roy, and Dick are the main characters, denoted by "Kent" for portions from Conner's point of view, "Harper" for portions from Roy's point of view, and "Grayson" for portions from Dick's point of view.  
> Those things with the tildes and parentheses are page breaks and perspective switches (mainly to skip things), and the brackets are the date (but not necessarily the time).

**[-Date Unknown-]**

~ (Harper) ~

(More. I need more.)

My stomach and back ache, a dull throbbing that feels strangely good. It doesn’t just feel good, though-- no, it feels great. It feels amazing.

It feels real. Completely irrevocably real.

I am me, I am real.

(Worthless, but real.)

I am Roy Harper and I am real.

I’m alive.

(Addicted but alive.)

**[Monday, March 21st, 2011]**

~ (Grayson) ~

Who am I?

I don’t know. I really don’t know.

I thought I knew, but I guess I was wrong.

No, I was very wrong.

I thought I was Richard Grayson, Ward of Bruce Wayne, son of John and Mary Grayson. Thought.

I don’t know who I am.

I don’t know what I am.

Am I a boy?

Am I a girl?

(Am I neither? Am I both?)

I’m young, still small, my chest a smooth plane of alabaster skin, my shoulders still narrow. I’m slim, well built, extremely flexible. I don’t have curves; my hips are just as narrow as my shoulders. I’m short enough that people think I’m thirteen, but I’ll be fifteen this year.

I’m fourteen and have no chest to speak of, no curves, no hips.

I’m a boy.

A boy.

A boy. A boy. A boy.

(Breathe in, breathe out.)

I’m a boy.

(Only I’m a girl.)

**[Monday, March 21st, 2011]**

~ (Kent) ~

When I look in the mirror, what I see never surprises me.

Black hair, blue eyes, tall, square jawed.

(A farm boy.)

I look into that face every day.

Every morning, I get up and make myself something to eat.

(Nothing for dad, just coffee. Black, two spoons of sugar. That’s all.)

Turn on the coffee maker-- premium dark roast, something strong --then wait for dad.

(I hope I made it right.)

When he finally comes into the kitchen, there’s no “good morning”. I merely point the coffee out to him, sipping my own cup.

(Black, no sugar, no creamer, straight from the pot, as soon as it’s done.)

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he gets his cup. Everything is quiet.

After a few more moments of silence, I speak.

“Is it any good? The coffee?”

He looks up, not looking at my eyes but glancing in my direction. “It’s decent.”

“….decent,” I repeat, my voice sounding just like his did.

When you’re talking to my dad, decent meant bad.

I check the clock and sling my bag across my back, standing and heading for the door. “Don’t forget that you have an interview with Lex Luthor, this afternoon.”

“How could I forget?” He mutters.

I sigh, smiling just a little, no more than a momentary smirk, really. “Bye, Dad.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Conner gets suspended, Clark lectures him, Lex Luthor talks too much, and we meet Match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No matter how much I want to, I can't claim Young Justice.

**[Monday, March 21st, 2011]**

~ (Kent) ~

“—started a fight with another student, Mr. Kent.”

I could hear them talking inside the office.

I shuffled my feet in my boots, bored and annoyed.

My dad wouldn’t change anything, though.

He didn’t care.

“—possible suspension. He broke the other boy’s nose.”

I leaned forward, eyes closed. The other boy deserved it. He’d called me a—

“Conner.”

I was jolted from my inner musing by my dad’s voice.

“Y-yeah?” I silently cursed my stutter, staring up at my father, ice blue to ice blue, suddenly feeling all of eight years old. How could this man, barely four inches taller than my own six foot zero, intimidate me so much? Just looking into his eyes made me feel like a little kid; I was almost an adult.

“Let’s go.” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose behind his glasses.

He wasn’t angry. Dad didn’t get angry.

He was disappointed.

I stood and walked behind him, my eyes locked on the back of his neck. He had broad shoulders under his suit, strong muscles too. He was good. A good man. A good father.

For a while, I had wanted to make him proud. He loved me, I guess, though I had no clue why. Recently, or, rather, over the last nine years, he’s become more distant.

It’s also my sixteenth birthday today, by the way.

Happy birthday to me.

~ (Kent) ~

“Conner, you can’t just start fights like that,” he said, his eyes locked on the road. He was lecturing me.

I just leaned against the window like the petulant teenager I am.

“Conner.”

I ignored him.

“Conner Johnathan Kent.”

“What?” I replied, my voice coming out with a scowl. I winced internally at the way I had spoken to him.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” my dad asked, watching at me out of the corner of his eye. “Violence doesn’t solve your problems and you can’t just start something whenever you feel like it.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” I stated, glaring pointedly out the window.

“Well, you sure as hell finished it.”

“It’s not my fault that Terror doesn’t have the skills to back up his talk.”

“Conner.”

“What, dad.” I said flatly, gritting my teeth. “You gonna keep on telling me that I should just solve it with words? Terror’s an idiot; he doesn’t understand half the words his sister calls him.”

“That doesn’t give you an excuse to beat him down.”

“You don’t even know what happened….!” I half shouted at him. “You keep puttin’ words in my mouth and you’re not even listening to what I’m saying!”

“How so, Conner?”

“I didn’t beat him down. He’s the one that started the fight. If he can’t take it, he should pick on someone his own size.”

He doesn’t say anything, just glances at his watch.

A sigh.

“I’m late.”

“Just let me out here. I’ll get home alright.” I muttered through clenched teeth.

He sighs again, “No, you’re coming with me to the interview. Try not to act up. Be nice to Miss Lane.”

~ (Kent) ~

I’ve known Miss Lane for a long time. I also know that she has a thing for dad. She’s really pretty, and, at the rare times that she’s around when my grandparents are visiting, my grandparents say that she looks just like my mom, other than her eyes.

She’s blue eyed and black haired, with pretty eyelashes and, of course, a beautiful face.

She’s a nice lady.

I don’t cut her any slack.

She acts like she’s my mom, but I refuse to accept that; she’s not my mom and she never will be. She should just stop trying already. I don’t need her to try to take mom’s place; I don’t need a mom at all. Miss Lane is the type of woman that would fall out of a window if it meant she would get an article; I wouldn’t want her as a mom, even if I wanted one at all.

Still, dad was being serious when he told me to be nice to her, so I had to at least be civil.

“Hello, Miss Lane,” I said, glaring at a point on the wall just below her ear.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling awkwardly. “Hello, Conner. What are you doing here? Don’t you have school?”

Dad cut in at this point. “He got suspended. He’s only here because I had no time to take him home without being late.” He smiled apologetically and I turned my glare to the back of his head.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Miss Lane said, staring at me for a moment before returning her attention to my dad.

I cleared my throat. “Dad. Miss Lane. May I remind you that you have an interview?”

It was annoying how I had to remind them to do their job, especially seeing as dad was late anyway. Sometimes I wonder if he’s really my dad with all his idiotic bullshit.

~ (Kent) ~

Lex Luthor was a charismatic man who lived alone, in his penthouse, with his various awards. He, as he was so quick to tell us, practically built his company from the ground up while he was still in college. He had overtaken his father’s company and eventually bought it out, creating the Lexcorp that most people knew today. His company had started out with small electronics, expanding on ideas that were already out there, and had quickly moved into foreign territory, creating better and more efficient versions of things that only specialized companies like Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries sold. He also funded a lot of projects for STAR Labs, to help invent things for the betterment of humanity.

He was very eager to tell us exactly what he had done with his life and about things that Dad and Miss Lane didn’t even ask. I quickly decided that he talks too much.

_**Also,**_  I mused, wandering his penthouse,  _ **his place is too big.**_

It was like there were literally a hundred hallways and none of them led to the bathroom.

There were two rooms that seemed odd, given that he lived by himself. A room full of children’s toys and a bedroom. Both were empty, but there had been someone in them recently.

“He…llo……?”

I jolted at the sound of the dis-jointed voice, so like my own. I turned around and was startled to find another person right behind me, staring into my eyes with dull blue orbs. It was like looking in a mirror, almost. Not quite.

He had black hair and blue eyes, like mine but different, his hair tamed easily while mine spiked loose, his eyes dull greyish blue. He was slim and scrawny, but still tall like me. He was small, though, in a different way. He seemed to be completely cowed, flinching when I turned to face him. His face was like mine, which is to say, like Dad’s, despite the fact that he seemed startled.

He hesitated, and then spoke again, in the same disjointed voice, slightly garbled.

“Who… are you….?” It was like looking in a mirror.

“Err, I’m Conner,” I replied.

“Hi…. Con…ner…. I’m…. Matthew….” he smiled. “It’s nice…. to meet you….”

He was having trouble speaking and seemed to have trouble focusing on me, too. His movements were jerky and shuddering, like a truck that was old and slow to start, his voice slow and faltering, disjointed like he couldn’t talk right.

I felt bad for him.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Matthew.”

~ (Kent) ~

Matthew (or Matt, as he eventually insisted that I call him) was nice, but he had trouble speaking so it was hard for me to understand him. He explained (after almost a quarter of an hour spent trying to articulate the words) that he was Luthor’s adoptive son and that he had never been outside of the penthouse. That was why no one knew him.

He told me about the things he liked to do, and about the things that he wanted to learn how to do. We talked about the things that he learned from his tutors, and found that we had some common ground.

He was sixteen years old, as of this morning, and he was a sophomore in high school.

(Just like me.)

He and I talked and talked, on and on about nothing in particular. His words were disjointed, but he talked like Dad did, almost. His worries were like mine, his face was like mine; we were like each other but not exactly the same. His smile was shy, unlike mine, and he stuttered a lot. He didn’t understand some of my problems, but he understood when I told him about what happened with Terror.

“He… de-eserved it,” Matt said, firmly despite the faltering stammer of his voice. “That word is…. inse-ensitive…. and not okay; if I were…. you, I would have…. hit him even… harder.”

“Harder? I almost broke my hand, Matt,” I laughed a bit.

“Only because… of his… stupid face,” Matt grinned and I laughed more.

“You’re right. I only hurt myself because of his stupid face.”

~ (Kent) ~

“Do you…. ha-ave a dad?” Matt asked, sitting cross legged on his bed.

“Yeah, of course, I do. Everyone has a dad, right? It takes two for a baby to happen, so I assume that every single person in the world has a dad, even if they don’t know who it is.” I said, musing aloud almost.

“Do…. you have a-a mom?”

“I  _had_  a mom, but no, I don’t have a mom. I don’t need one.”

“I don’t…. have a mom ei-ither,” he commented. “Do you have… f-friends?”

“Not really.” I murmured, without thinking. I remembered the son of my dad’s best friend, and then amended my prior statement, “I have people that I hang out with, but not really what I would call ‘friends’.”

“O-oh….” He made a face, kind of, but I wasn’t sure if it was one of the staggered movements that I had seen so far. “What do-o you… like to do….?”

I stayed silent for a while. I didn’t know how to answer. I don’t know what I like to do, because I’ve never really wanted to do anything. Life’s not fair (which I learned when my mother walked out on me and my dad, just over thirteen years ago), but life had nothing to do with the fact that I had no answer for Matt’s question.

I was the reason that I had no answer. I didn’t want to do anything because I was afraid I would disappoint my dad. I wanted to do everything because I wanted to make him proud. My fears won out and I didn’t end up doing anything at all.

“I don’t know.” I finally answered. “I don’t know what I like to do. I don’t do much of anything.”

“Oh….” He made that face again, and this time I knew he was doing it on purpose. “Why?”

“Why what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow again.

“Why don’t you… know what you… like to do…? Everyone does something… that they think is fun, so-o…. What do you… do for fun? You must have…  _some-thi-ing…_  that you like to… do, Conner….”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy has no idea where he is (or what the date is or what time it is), and he muses because there's nothing better to do than muse when your self-medication isn't working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it.

**[-Date Unknown-]**

~ (Harper) ~

I had never wanted anything more than to be the best. Archery and schoolwork alike, I refused to be second best.

I had to be the best. There was no option two, no plan B; I had to be the best and that was it.

I couldn’t do anything else because I didn’t want to be anything else.

I refused to be second in anything.

But that…. That kind of life really stresses you out. It’s hard to turn that off when you’re trying to relax. It gets hard to sleep at night. No matter how hard you try to relax, you just can’t. Then it gets to your nerves. You start to get paranoid because you haven’t slept in a long time. And then you get more stressed out trying to make yourself calm down and it just… snowballs. You end up being even more stressed out and more tired, but less inclined to sleep, no matter how exhausted you are. And then it affects the rest of your life. You can’t focus in class, so your grades start to slip. You’re so bleary eyed that you can’t even see the target.

Suddenly, you, who refused to be second place, are now in last.

That’s the kind of stress I’m talking about.

~ (Harper) ~

My arms ache, a dull pain that only draws my attention when I move, the same as my shoulders and neck. Every inch of my body is in pain. It hurts so bad that I almost want to die, and, sometimes, I seriously consider it. It hurts so badly that I would never wish this pain on anyone, even my enemies. My back hurts in a different way; sometimes the same caliber, other times beyond that. Sharp sparks of pain arching up and down my back, almost addicting in and of themselves, their reality and irregularity so intoxicating that I… that I……

(I don’t want to stop.)

It hurts so bad- (So good) -that I can’t even bear to lie to myself anymore.

I want this.

I want it so much that I even dream about it. It hurts and it’s real; I want it, I need it, but it’s killing me. I can’t go on with this anymore. My body hurts like it’s breaking, like it’s bleeding.

This is the only way I can feel anymore. In my dream-filled stupor, I’ll see visions of things that might have been, in another world, another life, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything. I’m either numb or in pain and I prefer pain to feeling nothing.

Maybe that’s why I’ve tried to quit for so long.

(Or maybe I want to feel something other than numbness and pain and I know that I can beat this if I try hard enough.)

That’s a lie.

I keep trying to quit because even I can’t lie to myself for so long. I want the pain. It makes me feel real. It makes me feel alive. I like it, but I hate it. I want it and need it, but at the same time, I want to be free of it.

But why do I want to be free? I’ve lost everything. It’s too late for freedom.

(I’ve trapped myself in a cage of my own fears, locked in with my desires, and weighed down with my sins.)

~ (Harper) ~

The only thing that I consistently feel, every time I try to make myself feel something, anything, is that sharp pinch that hurts for just a second, then I feel so much better.

(If by better, I mean numb.)

It only hurts for a moment, but it affects me for almost literally days. I can’t remember the last time that I spent more than a few hours in school per week, which is pretty bad, considering who I was before I became what I am now. It makes some pain go away, it helps me relax, but it’s the source of all evil, and the cause of my problems.

(No, I’m the cause.)

Everything is wonderful and nothing hurts. Ollie has time for me, my dad isn’t dead, Uncle Jim isn’t overseas, my mom isn’t gone, I don’t have to sell myself to this foolish endeavor, and I don’t have to spend my nights in a cold bed with a constant burning pain at the base of my spine. Everything is perfect and nothing has to change.

My body isn’t breaking, I’m not addicted, my best friend hasn’t abandoned me, my brother has time for me, and my girlfriend hasn’t dumped me.

I wish things were really like that, but, at least when I’m numb, I can pretend. I can act like these things are true. I can hide from myself.

When I’m in pain, it doesn’t surprise me anymore what I’m willing to do to get another hit; the time for that is long past.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Richard, Roy thinks that the popular girls are skanks, and I finally get to try out my shiny new time markers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: You know the drill by now. Young Justice, don't own it, don't particularly want to, either.

**[Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011]**

**[Before 1st Hour]**

~ (Harper) ~

School on Tuesday was hectic. Not even the usual kind of hectic, either, no. It was horrible. I remembered why I had skipped school on Monday almost immediately. Because I was well off and some of the popular chicks wanted Ollie’s money for themselves, even though, of course, _I_ wouldn’t even have it until the day that Ollie died.

(That's a day that I am really not looking forward to.)

I would say that the popular chicks were plastic and fake, but they were all horrifyingly real. They were too young for me and too young to legally get cosmetic surgery anyway, so I would probably be more surprised if they _were_ plastic. I’ve met some very plastic women and it was not pretty. These girls, even though I have no more than a passing interest in any of the girls at my school, are beautiful. They’re beautiful and they still think that they need money to be happy.

If they could see how the boys fawn over them, perhaps, they’d feel better, but then again, the reason that they’re so popular is _because_ the boys fawn over them; I doubt that they could be unaware if they tried.

Even with all of their beauty, I really don’t like them.

Why?

Because they’re all skanks, the lot of them.

Honestly, I would prefer if they just left me alone, but, in today’s society, teenagers need to socialize, which means that I can’t just ignore them, blow them off and walk away. Which sucks, by the way, because I would absolutely love to just walk off and not listen to a word that comes out of one of their devil painted mouths.

But, whatever.

C’est la vie, I guess or, at least, such is _my_ life.

~ (Harper) ~

“Hey, Roy,” I looked up when I heard my name called.

The owner of the voice was young.

Younger than me.

Too young to be associating with me.

He had black hair and dark blue eyes, and he was young. He was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and he was short, the shortest of what we used to jokingly call “young justice”, our little band of kids that defended those who needed protecting.

(What a fucking joke.)

“Hey, Dick,” I replied, lifting my head off of the table and ignoring the ache across my back. He plopped down into the seat next to me, far more serious than he usually was.

I rolled my eyes and looked at him, sighing a bit.

“You should stop making that face or it’s gonna get stuck that way, kid,” I comment, looking away from him and leaning back a bit, my hands buried in my pockets. “Why so serious, anyway? You act like somebody got shot, or something.”

He pointed to the jock table, or, more specifically, to a person sitting there. It was a guy-- a really muscular guy --with a plaster across his nose. There were also dark purple crescents on the edges of his eye sockets. Something about that reminded me of something….

…oh. So, that’s how it was.

He had gotten into a fight. From the plaster, I bet he got his nose broken. Somebody at this school did about twenty freshmen a favor, yesterday.

“What happened to Terror?” I asked, staring at him. I turned my gaze back to the kid in front of me, raising an eyebrow.

“Conner,” the kid said, not cracking even the smallest of smiles, which was weird for him.

“….so, Conner happened?” I just stared at him, blue meeting blue.

“Terror started a fight, and Conner finished it. He got suspended, yesterday.”

Huh. “When’s he coming back?” I sounded like I didn’t care. I sounded like I could hardly be bothered to give a damn that my blood brother’s best friend was out of school, which made sense because I really don’t care. I could give a fuck whether he ever came back, and it scared me.

(I need to stop.)

“He’s out for a few days; he’ll be back by Monday,” Dick piped up. He was grinning earnestly.

“If you say so, Dick. You should keep an eye on Terror, just the same; he’s not the type to take something like getting the shit beat out of him lying down.”

~ (Harper) ~

I ended up going home early, making up some not-quite-bullshit story about feeling like I was going to puke. I couldn’t take any more school.

(Maybe I should just drop out.)

No. I’m so close.

Just a few more months, and then I’ll be out. I’ll be free. There are just a few months until I get that diploma and get out of Star City.

The only question is where I would go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which none of us are surprised that Lex is not the humanitarian philanthropist that he claims to be, Roy wakes up in the living room of Ollie's house, Richard belabors a point, Roy muses on who is and who he was, and Roy considers suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Young Justice isn't mine.

**[Wednesday, March 23rd, 2011]**

**[12:37 am, Eastern Time]**

~ (Harper) ~

I stared blankly at the flashing light of my cellphone, surveying my surroundings without moving. I was in the living room (the stupidly lavish and annoyingly expensive living room) and not in my bedroom, on the couch, not in bed.

(Well, that explains my neck hurting, I suppose.)

I shifted my position and sat up, staring down at my phone for a few moments more before picking it up and turning it on. I had three voice messages, one from Dick, one from Dinah, and one from….

That’s not good; I may know the guy, but I don’t just give out my phone number. How the hell did he even get my number?

A long drawn-out yawn escaped my throat, and I checked the messages.

“Roy, it’s Dick, here.” The voice was cheerful, but almost forced in its cheer. “So, hey, what’s up dude? I haven’t heard from you in a while…” He trailed off a bit. “Call me, Roy. Please. Something’s bothering you, and I don’t like it. Just talk to me, you anti-social jerk.”

Fifteen seconds. If I had picked up the phone, he would’ve given me the third degree and I wouldn’t have gotten off the phone for an hour.

“Hi, Roy, it’s Dinah. I….” The voice was hesitant and feminine. “…really need to talk to you. Call me back when you get this message.”

Eight seconds. With all the things that could be said about Dinah, let it never be said that she was one to belabor a point or use more words than necessary to get the point across.

(Belaboring a point was Dick’s job.)

“Hello, Mr. Harper.” There was a short, rather awkward pause. The voice was masculine, and very dignified; if I couldn’t hear the accent and was just reading a transcript, I would’ve imagined the words being spoke in an English accent. “I’m just calling to inform you that I have need of your services. Respond as soon as you get this message, if you value your paycheck.”

I sighed softly.

(Leave it to Lex to threaten my income in a twelve second long message on my answering machine.)

I carefully dialed the number that I’d called from payphones, Ollie’s phone, Ollie’s house phone, and Dick’s phone, my hands shaking a bit as I tap out the memorized digits. Pressing call and waiting as it rang was probably the most annoying wait I’d ever had the displeasure of participating in.

“Luthor,” said the voice on the other end of the line. I released a breath that I hadn’t known I had been holding.

“This is Roy. Roy Harper, remember?” I said, acutely aware that my whole body was shaking like I had a slight chill. I need another fix, and Lex, as always, has impeccable timing.

“Of course~ How could I forget~?” The timbre of his voice made me uncomfortable, having gone from formal and business-like to casual and almost-not-quite-flirty. “So, are you calling about the Job?”

First things first… “How the hell did you get my phone number?”

“I have well connected friends, Mr. Harper; it pays to be a CEO,” I could practically hear his self-satisfied smirk on his smug voice.

“….ignoring the fact that my number is private, what exactly does this job entail?” I couldn’t deny that I needed the money, but I wasn’t about to kill or steal from someone. At least, not unless the item in question had been stolen in the first place.

Is it more wrong to steal from a thief than it is to steal in the first place? Or does their possession of it make it okay? If it’s theirs to keep after stealing it, I don’t know if I can trust this justice system, anymore. Then again, I’ve never really been on the right side of the law.

(I was born on the wrong side of town, on the wrong side of the law, no matter how I try to delude and lie to myself.)

“Oh, nothing big. I’d just like you to escort me to a charity event,” he said smoothly, his voice charismatic in a way that Ollie’s never would be (because Ollie is too good for that).

“….as what, a literal escort? You may be rich, but even you wouldn’t throw your money away by hiring me as an actual escort,” I said with a deadpan that was audible in my voice.

“Oh, no, no.”

“What then?”

“As a date, I suppose. I would pay you double the usual price, merely because I know for a fact that the day of this charity event isn’t a Wednesday or Friday.”

I was at a loss for words. I actually didn’t speak for two full minutes.

“Harper? Harper, did you hear me?”

“…..it sounded like you just asked me out, but that’s a no, given that you’re forty-something and I’m eighteen, and that would squick people out.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Harper. I simply need to be seen with one of Star City’s Elite, which would leave either you or Queen, and, last I checked, Queen is married.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “You say not to flatter myself when you’re the one paying me fifteen-hundred bucks per session; I’d say that I’m pretty attractive, given that I quit my job and can still afford my habit with just what I make on the side.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “So?”

“So, what?”

“Will you go with me?”

“You say that like I have a choice. You and I both know that there is no choice; if I don’t go with you, you could cut me off, and, if I do go, I’ll have to suffer through a night in high society.”

“A night in high society will make you cultured.”

“It’s boring as fuck.”

“That’s because you aren’t cultured yet.”

“Yeah, but you’re cultured and I’m not sure I want to be cultured with you.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Alright, I’ll go.”

~ (Harper) ~

I sighed a bit, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Talking to Lex was tiring, especially when he was asking you to do something. He made it easy to feel like an idiot, because he was a genius and _**everyone**_ was dumber than him.

He was a selfish jerk, an entitled rich kid, without the kid part. I hated him…. but he paid well, so I had to put up with him.

Double my rate, though…?

(That could get me an extra hit or two… maybe even three, if I can swing it right.)

….I wasn’t sure that would be such a good idea.

I got up and staggered blindly to the bathroom, my eyes unfocused enough to where my entire head looked like a plume of bright vibrant orange flame.

After a few minutes standing in the bright light of the bathroom, my eyes began to adjust. I looked the same as always, which was good, I guess. I’d love to be someone else, but, then, who would be me, if _**I**_ weren’t me?

(Who would _**want**_ to be me? Even _**I**_ don’t want to be me.)

I stared at my reflection for a while, touching my face with the tips of my fingers, trying to figure out when I had gotten those bags under my eyes. Trying to figure out when my eyes had become so unfocused…. Trying to figure out what the heck had happened to the person I used to be… I ran my hand through my hair, sighing a bit.

That person was dead; the person that I used to be died while I was becoming what I am now. I would never be that person again, even though I wanted very dearly to just let go and go back to that. I don’t care what others think… but it’s impossible.

I’m so close to being a drop-out that I don’t even know what I’m doing in school anymore. I want to get out, but I have nowhere to go.

I want to die…

(Maybe I should; no one would mourn for me.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we're finally Richard, we meet one of his "acquaintances", past Wally is a j-hook, Kaldur is always Kaldur (even when he's not actually Kaldur), Roy used to work at a coffeeshop, Robin and Roy have classes in common, and I have a challenge for you smarties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't want it, so why would I claim to own it?

**[Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011]**

**[7th Hour]**

~ (Grayson) ~

It was 7th hour and Roy was gone. He left in the middle of his lunch hour, so I was stuck dealing with the ‘lovely young ladies’ by myself.

Next time I see that jerk, I’m gonna kill him, I decided, pinching the bridge of my nose.

School was bad enough on its own, but it was even worse when a freshman is in a class full of seniors, and he’s a little on the short side; I may be smart, but I’m not invincible.

Then again, with the way I act, you wouldn’t expect me to be smart; I do a lot of dumb stuff. Bravery and intelligence don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but they seem that way, most of the time.

When I was a kid, I had some friends, and we had decided to protect people from bullying. It was Kal, the oldest, me, the youngest, Roy, the second oldest, Wally, the second youngest, and Conner, in the middle. It was kind of like a neighborhood watch, but with just kids and no adults.

I was the brains, Roy was the precision, Wally was the enthusiasm, Kal was the voice of reason, and Conner was the strong one— we were a league of our own, protecting people.

Eventually, though, we stopped being friends.

Kal, the oldest, just left for college, last year. He stayed a close friend of Roy and me, but he wasn’t really around as much after he started high school; he was on the swim team and he had a girlfriend, so he didn’t have time for a group of kids like us.

Conner sort of withdrew when he was in seventh grade… he stopped talking for a few days, and then he stopped hanging out with us for a while. When he started sitting with us again, things had changed; he was always angry and he seemed bitter.

Wally was still friends with me, but not with anyone else. When we started middle school, he realized that he had a talent for running— suddenly, he was popular because he was an athlete. He and Conner had had a falling out, and Roy didn’t approve of the way that Wally had been treating us. Kal didn’t approve either.

‘Do not let this go to your head; remember that we were always there for you before. Do not abuse our friendship or you will find that it is no longer there to abuse.’

Roy, though….. Roy just stopped coming to school. He showed up every now and again, but he was almost never there. He stopped going to Archery practice. He worked extra hours at the coffee shop for a while, then he suddenly quit.

It wasn’t that we stopped being friends…. He just stopped showing up.

Before this morning, I hadn’t seen him in two weeks… which means that he hadn’t been at school for two weeks, because we share a 7th hour.

I was worried about him. I love him like a brother, but something’s wrong with him.

~ (Grayson) ~

The phone rang and rang, until it stopped, and I heard Roy’s voice.

“ _Hey, this is Roy. I’m not available at the moment, but leave your name and number after the tone and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”_

I groaned a bit, waiting for the beep, starting my message as soon as I heard it.

“Roy, it’s Dick here,” My own voice sounded foreign to my ears. “So, hey, what’s up dude? I haven’t heard from you in a while…” I hesitated, inwardly sighing. “Call me, Roy. Please. Something’s bothering you, and I don’t like it.” I had to force myself not to get frustrated. “Just talk to me, you anti-social jerk.”

~ (Grayson) ~

I tried calling his house but there was no answer. I tried texting him, still no answer.

It was like he had dropped off the face of the earth— Roy was the only person I know that could be woken up by a phone vibrating underneath his bed, so it couldn’t be that he was sleeping.

…I hope he's okay.

~ (Grayson) ~

“Hey, birdy,” sighed a voice.

“What is it, James?” I asked in a flat voice, leaning back in my chair.

The voice belonged to the only person that I just couldn't stand most of the time... and also my partner for men's pairs. His name was James Jesse, and he was bored today; I could tell from the way he spoke. We were the same in some ways but different in others. We both had blue eyes, but my hair was black and his was blond. Our parents had been in showbiz, but not part of the same circus. We were both Romani— we both spoke Romanian, at least to each other, when planning our routines —but he used parlari and I didn't. That didn't mean that I couldn't _understand_ parlari, though.

I just didn't like using it.... it felt like I was shaming my parents by using parlari among normal people. Of course, James' parents were Romani, too, but he didn't care about the way he spoke; he didn't get along with his parents, so he would _love_ to shame them.

“Heard through the grape vine that your little boyfriend broke Terror's nose... true or false?” he drawled slowly, examining his nails.

“Conner's not my boyfriend,” I said, turning away from the idiot who'd made that assumption. He moved to keep himself in my line of sight.

“Papa Terror might do something about that, y'know? You should tell that boy-toy of yours to watch his back; he's liable to get himself squashed, chavvi.”

I scoffed, but my heart wasn't in it. “Like he would chance going to prison again.”

“We’ll see,” James responded, smirking.

~ (Grayson) ~

I rested my head against the window, sighing. I was glad to be going home, especially after having worried about Conner and Roy, all day long.

Alfred, Bruce’s butler who was driving me home, spoke up, his voice as dignified as it always was. “You seem rather sullen, Master Richard.”

I sighed again, “Roy was at school, today… but he left before 7th hour.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding a bit.

“I’m worried about him, Alfred. Something’s wrong with him,” I stated, decisively.

“It could be that he had something that he needed to take care of; he _is_ a senior, if I recall correctly. He’s probably preparing for graduation; it’s only two months away, after all.”

I saw something out of the corner of my eye and looked to see what it was. That’s… “Alfred, stop the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Smarties~  
> I have the schedules for the classes figured out, but do you think you can figure out who the teachers are?  
> I bet you can do it with nothing but the last names, first initials, and a hint. Just one.
> 
> Richard John "Dick" Grayson  
> 1st- English 404 (Xavier, C.)  
> 2nd- Physical Education (Wang, Y.)  
> 3rd- Zoology (Logan, M.)  
> 4th- Lunch  
> 5th- Trigonometry (Drake, R.)  
> 6th- Arabic I (Adnan, S.)  
> 7th- Economics (Zwingli, B.)  
> 8th- Modern US History (Carr, L.)
> 
> Roy William Harper Jr  
> 1st- English 404 (Xavier, C.)  
> 2nd- Physical Education (Barton, C.)  
> 3rd- Zoology (Logan, M.)  
> 4th- Trigonometry (Drake, R.)  
> 5th- Vietnamese IV (Nguyen, P.)  
> 6th- Lunch  
> 7th- Economics (Zwingli, B.)  
> 8th- Modern US History (Carr, L.)
> 
> Conner Johnathan Kent  
> 1st- Drama (Kirkland, A.)  
> 2nd- Physical Education (Lehnsherr, E.)  
> 3rd- English 205 (Kirkland, A./Xavier, C.)  
> 4th- Chemistry (McCoy, H.)  
> 5th- Lunch  
> 6th- World History (Carr, L.)  
> 7th- Plane Geometry (Drake, R.)  
> 8th- German II (Wagner, K.)
> 
> **Most of these teachers are from comics, but three are from Young Justice. Two are the mothers of young heros, and one is actually a teacher in Young Justice, as well. We also have five X-men, one Avenger, and four personified nations.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Karen/Kara, Clark is too busy for Conner, Conner explains what actually happened, and we don't continue from the cliffhanger yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be.

**[Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011]**

**[6:42 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Kent) ~

Dad and Miss Lane had an article to write, so Dad called his cousin, Karen, and asked her to watch me while he was working. She couldn’t agree fast enough, and the next thing I knew, I was back at home, sitting at the kitchen table and doing my homework while Karen was watching me from her seat on the counter.

For a moment, I considered asking her to get off the counter, but I decided against it, since she wasn’t doing any harm.

“So, what do you do for fun, Conner?” She asked, idly swinging her legs back and forth. She looked nothing like dad, apart from her eyes (though, it was odd for her to look anything like him, anyway, given that he was adopted). Dad and Karen had the same blue eyes that I had, but Karen was petite and blonde, while Dad and I were tall and had sable-colored hair.

However, none of that mattered because there was that question again. ‘What do you do for fun?’ _**What do I even do for fun? I don’t know…**_ I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had fun, _**Which,**_ I reasoned, _**means I haven’t had any fun in way too long.**_

“Hello? Conner, can you hear me? I asked you a question, kiddo.”

I sighed, dragged back to reality by the sound of her voice, “Karen, I’m not supposed to have fun.” My words tasted bitter on my tongue. Bitter, cutting and biting. _**I’m being harsh,**_ I realized. I started to apologize, but she cut me off with a question, like how one would expect a child to.

“Why not?” she questioned, smiling a little. She was too nice. She had this face that just made you want to tell her everything… like telling her about your problems would make them melt away like snowflakes in the sunlight.

I hesitated for a moment, not wanting her to be disappointed in me like Dad was… then I sighed and decided that there was no harm in telling her. “I got suspended for breaking another kid’s nose… I’m on punishment, right now.”

The smile slid off her face and my heart dropped like a stone. She was disappointed in me, too. She looked sad and confused, “I don’t understand, Conner… You’re a good boy, so why would you hurt someone like that?”

I sighed and turned back to my homework, murmuring under my breath. “You and Dad are the same; you both assume that I started it.”

She got down off the counter and wandered over to the table, then sat down across from me. “So, you didn’t start it, then?”

“No, I didn’t…” I replied.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

I looked up and just stared at her for a moment. I spoke quietly, “Okay…”

~ (Kent) ~

My birthday had started out okay, in the scheme of things, I guess. I woke up, I took the dogs out, Dad left for work, and I left in time to catch my bus.

I spent the first twenty minutes of my time at school in the cafeteria with my friend and his partner (for some sort of sport, probably gymnastics), then I went to first hour. The day proceeded without incident… until Lunch.

During Lunch, Tommy Terror, the resident blond haired blue eyed jock, decided to visit my little corner of the cafeteria. I tolerated him for a few minutes, but then he decided it would be a good idea to ridicule my friends in front of me.

“I seen you hangin’ out with that li’l fairy from Gotham, Kent. Gonna tell me why you’re always around ‘im?” He smirked, looking down on me like I was just another little freshman ‘bug’ to be squashed. Not only was I not intimidated, I was taller than him, too.

“You got something to say, Terror?” I muttered, glaring daggers at him.

“Oh, I was just wonderin’ why you would hang out with a fruity li’l thing like him, ‘specially since I heard from a trusted source that he’s a fag.”

“So?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I reckon that makes you one, too.”

“I’m not a fag.”

“Prove it, then, Kent.”

“I’m not getting myself suspended just because you think I’m a fag.”

Then he threw the first punch and I didn’t fight back—at first.

“I know why you like hangin’ out with ‘im. It’s because you want a taste of that fruity little—”

I saw red and threw a punch without seeing what I was hitting, and I felt it the moment his nose broke. My vision didn’t clear until I was in the principal’s office with Terror’s blood on my fist and light bruises blooming on my face. I didn’t feel bad in the slightest. I was happy. Triumphant, even. I had beaten him in one shot.

I didn’t feel guilty until my dad got there, and, even then I didn’t regret it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy is a prostitute, we meet one of his clients (Crusher Crock), we meet Hal Jordan, Roy composes a "fairytale" about his life, and his dark thoughts start to get the better of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Young Justice becomes less mine, every time I update this fic.

**[Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011]  
[4:16 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Harper) ~

Crusher Crock is a tall man, with broad shoulders and blond hair. He’s brown eyed and muscular. He’s stronger than me, and, if I tried to fight back, I would lose…

…in other words, he’s just my type.

He smirks, looking me up and down, appraising me. I shift my position slightly, watching him undress me with those brown eyes. He pauses in his appraisal and my eyes are drawn to his. There’s a question, there.

‘How much?’

I smile, letting my voice slip into the usual coy timbre expected of me. “Ten per session, for a friend of Mr. Luthor.”

“Cute, Ginger. Dropping the price by five, just for me,” he leers at me, licking his lips. “So, where are we going to do this…?”

“I think I can find us a place,” I murmur, my voice quiet.

“Lead the way, slut.”

**[4:39 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Harper) ~

My hands were tied behind my back with a blindfold covering my eyes. I was pressed against the wall with a hand pushing on the small of my back. I feel rough fingers touching my skin.

“Are you sure you want it? Do you think you can take what I’m packing, you little ginger bitch?” the voice is low, his breath hot against my ear. My eyes are covered, so I can’t see his face or my surroundings.

I bite my lip gently, shivering. “Of course, I can take it.”

He laughs and I can almost imagine what his face looks like. I bet, right now, he’s smirking to himself and looking me over. In fact, I don’t even have to imagine it; I know him well enough that I can guess what he’s thinking.

I feel his hands wandering my body, trailing the surface of my skin and tracing my scars. They’re big broad hands and I can’t help wondering what he does for a living… but I keep my wonderings to myself—it’s not my place to ask.

He wasn’t talkative, like Lex was, so I knew very little about him. I knew his name, what he looked like, and what turned him on. I was relatively content with how little I knew about him… All I knew was what I needed to, and that I didn’t want to meet him when I wasn’t walking the streets like a vagrant.

My body shivers as his fingers trail down my spine, raising goose bumps on my skin. It’s a testament to how long I’ve been at this that I can think about anything other than what he’s doing to me, and that’s a bit discouraging.

His fingers have callouses, thick ones that suggest that he spent long years doing manual labor. He’s strong with big rough hands and broad shoulders. Everything about him is big, including his ego.

Not that I blame him for his big ego.

~ (Harper) ~

_There once was (as there had never been before), a Prince who married a girl and became the King. He conveniently forgot about the boy he adopted as his son while he was still the prince, so this boy felt unwanted._

_This boy, now a prince (because his princely father had become the king), acted out to get his father’s attention, but it didn’t work, because the king was busy with his new queen and his kingdom. The prince tried harder and harder, until he fell into the darkness that he came from (because he had come from the darkest part of the kingdom, born as the secret son of a witch and a knight)._

_He let all manner of evil souls into the castle, he consorted with demons, he kept witches as his companions, and rumor has it that he even sold his soul to the devil, but still all he truly wanted was his foster father’s attention._

_He got in over his head and was lost, and no one mourned when he died._

_Everyone else lived happily ever after._

**[6:17 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Harper) ~

He cuts the binds around my wrists and I reach up to take off the blindfold. When the blindfold is off, I stare at his back as he leaves. I feel completely wrecked. He’s rough, and it hurts.

(I love it.)

He smirks when he looks back and sees me staring. “I’ll have to come back and wreck you cross-eyed some other time. Maybe I’ll fuck that pretty mouth of yours, ginger.”

I shiver a bit and he laughs.

“Seems like a good idea.”

I’m almost tempted to just tell him to leave…

…y’know what, I think I will.

“Session’s over, Crusher. I’ll see you next time you have money to blow.”

He scowls and leaves. I get up and set about cleaning the house, lest Ollie figure out that I had someone over while he was out with Dinah. It’s tedious, but it keeps me from passing out.

**[6:48 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Harper) ~

Life sucks, but you have to put up with it unless you can somehow arrange to die accidentally, you get murdered, you /hire/ someone to murder you, or you kill yourself. There’s no way to make your own life better without the help of others and, if you have no one to help you, the only options are to live on in a world that sucks or to arrange to die or have yourself killed.

The silent apartment is suddenly filled with music, startling me out of my thoughts. It takes me a few seconds to find my cellphone, but I manage to find it before it stops ringing.

“H’llo…” I can’t keep myself from stumbling over the words, so I don’t even entertain the notion that whoever’s on the other end thinks I’m okay.

“Hey, Roy,” the voice is smooth, lower than Ollie’s but not deep enough to be Bruce. That leaves me with two options (but really only one, since Uncle Jim sends letters before he calls).

“Hi, Hal,” I try to make my voice bored, but it doesn’t work. I’ve been alone too long for my voice to sound nearly convincing to anything more intelligent than a box of thumbtacks.

I could hear Ollie’s voice in the background on Hal’s end, so I knew that Hal was either at Ollie’s office or having coffee with Ollie and Dinah, as he was known to do. I can almost hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again. “How’ve you been, Speedy?”

I scowl at the childish nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

Hal laughs a bit. “Okay, Roy, I won’t call you that anymore,” a short pause. “But, seriously, kid, how’ve you been?”

I hesitate, almost wanting to come clean and tell him everything, but I don’t. Instead, I lie. Lying is almost second nature to me now—it doesn’t even take me two seconds to come up with a convincing lie and I don’t trip or stumble while delivering it. “I’m dating a girl named Heather now.”

“What happened to Ophelia?” he asked, his voice almost concerned, almost curious.

I exhale a bit. “Ophelia is old news, as is Victoria.” I fake a sigh. “She decided I was boring and then moved on, same with Victoria.”

“Well, there are other fish in the sea; you’ll find the one that’s right for you,” he said reassuringly.

I sighed again.

“That sigh sounded really bored. I’m taking you out for some coffee, so be ready when I go over to get you,” his voice was firm, like he wouldn’t allow for any disagreement.

“I have a date. I won’t be home.” This was an untruth, but I didn’t feel bad for telling it. It wasn’t quite a lie… I did have a date with ‘Heather’, and I wouldn’t be aware enough to answer the door, but I would be home, even if I would be mentally absent.

“Roy…”

I groaned a bit, “Hal, I have a life outside of Ollie’s shadow, just so you know. I’m not chasing dreams or dragons; I’m just making my own way, okay?” This was also an untruth, again not quite a lie. Physically, I wasn’t chasing a dragon, but psychologically, I was. I was chasing that first high, a dragon that I would never catch up to.

“I’ll see you later, then, I guess.”

The line went dead.

~ (Harper) ~

Showers are heaven. Perfect.

Immediately after a phone call in which I had to lie to one of my dad’s best friends, I went to go take a shower, because I still had to hide the fact that I wasn’t the perfect little boy that I’d been when Ollie had first adopted me. The heat eased the pain from my spine, but I could still feel it in the muscles of my arms. It was still there, even if I couldn’t feel it at the moment.

My body needed more, but my mind, the only part of me still anything close to sane refused to let me enjoy getting more. At this point, it wasn’t about feeling good. It was about getting rid of the lingering pain in my limbs and spine.

I was falling. Drowning. I needed to get out.

(But I can’t.)

The water’s so hot; I can barely feel anything else. I want to just relax, but I can’t.

The sad thing is that the reason that I can’t just relax is Ollie. I want to, but my body is so used to being stressed out and having to watch Ollie every second of every day that I just can’t calm down. I wonder briefly if Dick ever has this sort of problem, but then I remember that Bruce’s supposed idiocy is just an act, like Luthor’s supposed kindness.

I feel completely isolated. Ollie was the one that I used to talk to, then Dinah, after Ollie lost his way. Shortly afterwards, Ollie found his way again, and Dinah along with it, and then I had no one. I lost my mother, then my father, then the person who took care of me. Then Ollie took me in, then I lost him to his work, then I found Dinah, then he came back for a while but fell for Dinah, and then both of them left. Everything turns to dust in my hands.

Everything ends.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we continue from Dickybird's cliffhanger, we see Hal again, Dick is responsible, Roy is in trouble, and Dick is also very nosy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine.

**[Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011]**

**[4:16 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Grayson) ~

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Roy was standing across the street, dressed in a red t-shirt with a black jacket and dark grey skinny jeans tucked into a pair of mid-calf length black boots. I only recognized him because of his hair, and those boots… I had been with him when he bought those boots.

I stared at him for a few moments more, but he didn’t notice. He was talking to a man with broad shoulders and blond hair. I couldn’t see the man’s eyes from where I was, but I felt like I’d seen him before.

I could read Roy’s lips from where I was, though I couldn’t do the same for the man that he was talking to.

‘Ten per session, for a friend of Mr. Luthor.’ he smiled and trailed a finger along the chest of the other male. He was selling something…?

I realized what they were talking about before the other man responded.

Roy was selling _himself_.

‘I think I can find us a place.’ his eyes were half lidded and I almost wanted to get out of the car and go slap some sense into him…

But I didn’t.

Instead, I looked away from him and the strange man, and then spoke to Alfred. “I want to go home now.”

“Of course, Master Richard.”

~ (Grayson) ~

When I got home, I ended up pacing the floor of one of the three studies in Bruce's house (specifically the one that he didn't work or keep books in... the one that I claimed after I moved in, which he let me have because he felt sorry for me). I staged an internal debate as to whether it was a good idea to tell Ollie that Roy was a prostitute... but, inevitably, the answer was no. If Ollie didn't know, Roy had a reason for not telling him. My second internal debate of the day was whether to tell Dinah or not. She was important to Roy and he was important to her, too... she was like his mom, without actually being his mom. This debate lasted longer, but, as with Ollie, the answer was no. Roy told her more than he told Ollie, so it was more likely for her to know than it was for Ollie to. _**Prostitution may be illegal, but Roy is almost as straight-laced as Bruce is... which means that he has a reason for doing it.**_

When the debate turned to Hal, though, the answer changed.

Hal, unlike Ollie, was responsible; Roy had to look out for Ollie, most of the time, but Hal tended to look out for both of them. Roy trusted him.

I stopped pacing, standing stock still in the middle of the room.

Roy _trusted_ Hal. Hal would know if something was up, so chances were that he already knew... however, even if he didn't, Roy wouldn't kill him for knowing something he shouldn't (well, as far as I knew, he wouldn't kill anyone _ever_ , but still... he was great at bitching people out when he was pissed).

**[6:24 pm, Eastern Time]**

~ (Grayson) ~

It took longer than expected to actually find Hal's phone number.... Oh, and it ended up being his house phone, so I didn't actually get him. I _did_ however get his cell number from a woman who had picked up when I called his house (probably his girlfriend).

That brought us to a few minutes later, with me calling Hal.

“Jordan,” said a male voice on the other end of the line. I hesitated, taking the moment to structure my words so he wouldn't immediately hang up on me...

“Hello, Mr Jordan. You don't know me, but I know of you through one of my friends, Roy Harper. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” ...and I somehow managed to come off as someone investigating Roy. _**Good job, Dick.**_

He didn't speak for a moment, but, when he did, it was clear from his voice that I had caught him off guard. “Uh.... okay, I guess.”

“Okay, first, have you spoken to him in the last couple months?”

“I've chatted with him online and talked on the phone, but I haven't spoken to him in person since December.”

“Second, have you noticed anything strange about him recently?”

He stayed silent for a few moments, “No stranger than usual for him. He was distant, but that's not very unusual. He's always distant.”

 _ **Gee, tell me something I don't know.**_ “Did he say anything weird?”

“Not particularly.” He went silent for another several seconds, and I realized that he was trying to figure out how to word it.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, curious but trying not to sound that way (it didn't work, though).

“Well, recently, every time I've called him, he's had a new girlfriend. With the way he is, it's not unusual for him to have a bunch of girlfriends, but these ones were exclusive... it just rubbed me the wrong way. As far as I know, he doesn't do exclusive relationships anymore.”

“What were their names?”

I could practically hear him shrugging the background. “Ophelia, Emma, Victoria, and Heather.”

“Oh.... okay, thank you, Mr Jordan.”

~ (Grayson) ~

“Ophelia.... Emma.... Victoria... Heather...”

I paced the study some more, went over the names in my head and out loud, trying to figure out if there was a hidden subtext in it... repeated and repeated and repeated until each name was just a mass of sounds... a line of letters.

_**Emma... Em.... M... Morphine...** _

“Morphine...? Where the heck did that come from....?”

_**Emma, Em, M, Morphine..... Victoria, Vicky, V... Vicodin.** _

It couldn't be a coincidence.

_**If Emma is Morphine.... and Victoria is Vicodin... Heather and Ophelia...?** _

“Ophelia... a name that isn't very recent... it's hundreds of years old and not very popular anymore...” I murmured.

Not very recent... hundreds of years old... not very popular anymore...

Not very popular anymore... starts with O.... Opium.

Ophelia... Opium... Emma... Morphine... Victoria... Vicodin...

_**What about Heather?** _

Heather... Heat...? H... Heroin.

If I was right...

I sighed, “Goddammit, Roy... you've gotten yourself into a real mess, this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case you couldn't tell, this came before Hal called Roy.)


End file.
